


We All Float In Gotham

by BadgerDame



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Batjokes, Eldritch Abomination, Illusions, Joker has powers, Joker is a little shit, Joker is basically Pennywise, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Mind Games, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadgerDame/pseuds/BadgerDame
Summary: Gotham City has always been a place with a dark secret. Where every twenty seven years the reason for the plague of that corruption would awaken only to cause havoc and then vanish to be forgotten. An endless cycle. Not much changing. Except when Batman entered the picture. Changing this city forever. Bringing out costume heroes and villains alike. The Joker couldn't have been more delighted and intrigued, by this man who dresses up as one of his fears. Honestly, it was downright hilarious for the clown who just awoken from his long rest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when one of my friend's gives me an idea for a crossover AU where Joker is basically Pennywise. A story that I can't stop myself from writing.

Bad weather was a stable of Gotham City. Where storms would roll in and the rain could last weeks at a time. This night was no different. The rain hitting the pavement and soaking the city streets, making driving a hazard. The storm was raging outside. High winds. Where most people stayed indoors and the ones who left their homes were usually up to no good. Another usual night. At least that’s what everyone thought. But, this night wasn’t like the others. Where a young boy snuck out of the Manor to prove himself to his guardian. A guardian who took it upon himself to change Gotham for the better.

 

A city shrouded in corruption since the first settlers arrived to call it home. A place where a rich family could go out to see a movie, only to be gunned down in an alleyway where only the son remains. Years went by and that eight year old child had grown up to cause an upheaval towards crime. A bat in the night. A protector, who knew this city better than anyone. Or, at least the man thought so. Until tonight. When the night would end with blood staining a wet street. For Gotham wasn’t like any city in America. It held a dark secret hidden away in the vast sewer system that ran through the roots of this city. A secret that would make itself known only every twenty seven years, only to then disappear and be forgotten. The cycle repeating on and on. Although, this night would change everything. And, it’s all because a child lost his parents years before, and another child thought he was ready to fight against the cruelty of the world on his own only to be proven mistaken.

 

Jason Todd was the happiest he had ever been in his life. Although, he had many hardships growing up on the streets that held a kill or be killed mentality, and countless regrets that would weigh heavily on his heart, there was one decision he made that he would never change. A theft that went against what was considered morally right changed everything for the better. At least he would think that until this night ended. For how could he have known then that stealing the wheels off the Bat-mobile would be the catalyst moment to sign his death sentence on a seemingly normal rainy night.

 

Right now, he was feeling on the top of the world. Even if his Robin costume was uncomfortable due to the downpour, he never felt so alive. His split lip not even dampening his mood, and the feeling of shattering a weapons dealers arm was like an intoxicating drug. His mentor wouldn’t have approved of him going out on his own. But, Jason disagreed. He had taken the mantle of Robin for a year now, and although he was only twelve years old, he was skilled enough to take down men twice his size. A shame really, all of Gotham would come to realize that an ageless monster had awoken from its long rest and would soon set his sights on the young vigilante. Setting off a train reaction that would strike terror in all involved and change the face of this city forever.

 

Each blow that his enemies had tried to take the boy down would be matched with brutality that even Batman would chastise him for using. A group of ten men were nothing in contrast to the yearlong grueling training this child had to partake in to wear the very outfit that would bring the criminals in a state of panic. They may have feared the Bat the most, but Robin wouldn’t hesitate to prove that fear should be geared towards him. When the last man fell, Jason couldn’t keep the grin off his face. His dyed black hair sticking to his forehead. His heart racing with adrenaline, he let out a laugh. Jason lived for nights like this. And, soon when Bruce realized his accomplishments of taking down the biggest weapons deal that Gotham has seen in years, then he would truly feel free.

 

Jason was at the peak of bliss. Ready to move onto the Penguin’s location and end this once and for all, until the sound of laughter wormed its way into his ears. He stopped in his tracks. Grappling gun in hand as he turned his head to look around. Assuming one of the dealers had gotten up to continue the fight. Nothing was there, except floating near a storm drain was a green balloon. A red smiley face printed on it and seemingly to stare him down.

 

Gotham City was known for peculiar occurrences since Batman arrived on the scene several years back and any alarm that should have been warranted didn’t process in the rebellious youths mind. It should have. If it did then young Jason Todd would have gone home this night. Awoken to a wonderfully delicious breakfast made by a loyal butler. Slept in a nice warm bed. Even the reprimand he would have received from taking on hardened criminals alone by Bruce would have been nothing, but an inconvenience. Regrettably, that was not what would happen. Instead, Jason had found himself drawn to the abnormality. Sealing his fate and along with it the future of all of Gotham.

 

The balloon floated there unmoving despite the harsh wind. Even its surface stayed dry. Leaving Jason curious on how that was even possible. Still, he couldn’t think of it long enough for once he got close enough to reach out and try and grab the balloon, it made a sickening pop. Startling him in a childish fear sort of way. The drop in temperature caused Jason to shiver. Made him reconsider his rationality for going out tonight in the first place. However, he was stubborn. More so than Bruce would ever be. A dangerous quality to have that only became an advantage for the monster watching him where he stood. Feeling he wasted enough time with childish curiosity, Jason was ready to head off. Get as far away from here as possible. Take down the Penguin or hell, return home even. Whatever destination he choose was good enough for him right about now.

 

Laughter stopped him in his tracks. His blue eyes darting into the storm drain. His body instantly going on edge. Ready, for a fight. Making a deadly mistake he crouched down to get a better look. Water sinking into his armored green boots. At first he couldn’t see anything in the darkness. A realization that only made him even more tense and uneasy. What caused him to startle out of his skin was the striking glowing yellow eyes that seem to appear out of thin air. He blinked, and the eyes were now an emerald green. _Weren’t they yellow?_ M _ust have been seeing things_ , he reasoned to himself. The form in the drain moved more into view and that’s when Jason felt like the world had flipped on its head. Gone absolutely nuts.

 

A clown was in the storm drain. A wide grin plastered on that chalk white face. He could make out the detail in the clown’s presumed make up. Blue eye-shadow on the eyes that made those pools of green striking in contrast. Two red lines went above his green brows, sliding down past his eyes and cheeks, meeting at the edges of the clown’s ruby lips. The clown wore a purple suit, an orange under vest, green tie and undershirt. As well as withered flower pinned on the purple suit jacket. Not the typical attire for a clown, but the green hair and every other aspect fit the bill well enough. Jason has experienced a lot of absurd things living in this city, but this took the cake.

 

“Heya, kiddo,” The clown addresses him. His smile growing even wider that didn’t seem normal in human standards. Impossibly wide. “I like your outfit. _Costume_ party?” He asks and lets out a chuckle.

 

Jason narrowed his eyes at the clown. Feeling insulted by the comment. He may have been the second person to take the mantel as Robin, but he thought he at least made more of an impact than Dick ever did. At least towards criminals. Which he wasn’t to sure if this clown was one or not. He should give him the benefit of the doubt. At least, that’s what Alfred would tell him to do.

 

“Not exactly,” he says. Not giving to much information away. A beat. Then adds. “What’s a clown even doing in a _storm drain_ anyway?” Sure, it might have come off as rude, but Jason was never fond of mincing words. A trait he must have adopted in the year of living with Bruce and Alfred’s playful bickering and his responsibilities as one of the protectors of Gotham City.

 

The clown tilts his head. Giving the child a curious and amused look. His body jerking slightly in almost unnatural movements.

 

“The storm,” he says and when Jason doesn’t respond, the clown continues. “It washed me down here. Haven’t been able to get out, you see.” Odd, but given the reputation this city possessed, Jason could at least attempt to believe it. “Now, what’s a _brave boy_ like yourself doing out on a night like this, in this weather?”

 

“You really don’t read the papers, do you?” Jason jokes and the clown lets out a chuckle that comes off more unhinged than anything cheerful.

 

“You could say, it’s been _a while_  since I have,” The clown replies. Ominous on the actual meaning behind those words. “Although, I do make it a _habit_ to at least stay as _informed_ as I can.” He gives a jerky nod. Then goes silent. Staring intensely at Jason. It makes the child feel even more uneasy. He can’t read what the clowns intentions are, but instinct is screaming at him to leave. Right now. That the clown couldn’t be trusted. If only he honestly knew how correct he was before it was too late.

 

 _This one definitely belongs in Arkham._ Jason thinks to himself.

 

He couldn’t really stay and chat. And, if he was being honest, this situation was giving him the creeps. He’d rather be dealing with the Riddler’s aggravating condescending monologues than deal with some freakish clown in a storm drain. Besides, he wasn’t sure how long it would be  before Batman realized he was gone. If the older man didn’t already know and was out looking for him already. Needing to still prove himself and not waste anymore time, he glances at the clown -that didn’t even blink for close to a minute now- and gives as much as a sorry filled look he could manage given the bizarre circumstances.

 

“I need to go,” He states. But, before the child could even leave the clown stops him with  paralyzing comments.

 

“Go? _But, aren’tcha a hero?_ You wouldn’t leave a _defenseless_ person stuck; would you? What would _Batman_ think?” The clown frowns in feign sadness. His words hit its mark. In a way that shocks Jason to his core.

 

“I thought, you didn’t _know_ who I am?” He replies, unease tainting his tone against his control.

 

“Like I said, I like to keep informed,” he states as if that answer is all he needs. Even if it was a tell-tale sign to his true nature. That would only go oblivious to the child. For now. “So, will you help me get out? _That’s what you do right?_ Help people.” He persuades. Sounding way to eager. Hopeful that Jason would take the bait.

 

Every fiber in him tells him not to. That he needs to just let this one go. Leave. Get home. Yet, Jason can’t. Not when he was so desperate for Bruce’s approval. And, he was trained to help anyone in need. A philosophy he didn’t fully embrace as much as Batman did. As, Bruce would even save the lives of the worse men this city could produce. While, he himself would rather see them killed. Would be better for everyone if they were. Innocent people was different. Jason was just as determined in the task of helping people as his mentor was. The clown was still a strange grey-line for him. Though, the only real thing he could deduce about this clown was he might be insane, he couldn’t say for certain if the stranger was a menace or not.

 

_Jason should have went with the former._

 

_He doesn’t._

 

“Yeah,” He doesn’t sound sure. “Just take my hand and I’ll pull you out.” He offers after at least two minutes of silent contemplation. Oddly, the clown didn’t seem put off by the silence. Just staring Jason down. It was unnerving and almost makes him change his mind. The clown seems to sense this and speaks up. Voice gentle and soft.

 

“Such a good little _birdy,_ you are,” The clown says. Bouncing on his feet. “Batman would be proud. _Yes, he would!_ ” His green eyes gleam. His words sounding like a promise.

 

It’s all the motivator Jason needs. Reaching past his unease with the clown and pulling out a level of pride he desperately needed to feel. Approval is the one thing he strives for when it came to his mentor. And, just the thought that he’s doing the right thing despite his fears is the push he needs.  Jason lowers himself down onto his knees to be able to reach for the clown. Getting the momentum he’ll need for the task. Rain water sinks to the fabric of his attire. He leans forward, holding his hand out in the storm drain.  A purple gloved hand latched on to his wrist. And, Jason only has a split second to realize how fatal his decision was when green eyes instantly flash yellow. By then, it was too late for him to yank free. That grin stretches even wider, rows upon rows of needle like teeth sprout out of the clowns mouth.

 

“I think, you and your arm need a divorce,” is the only warning the clown gives. Even then his voice was distorted as if it wasn’t being spoken from his lips. Just like that, the clown leans forward in his attack. Sinking those sharp teeth in the boy’s arm. Right through the muscle and right through bones. A broken scream fills the street as Jason pulls away. Missing an arm. It had been ripped clean off.

 

The pain was like nothing he experienced in his life. He’s had broken bones before, been stabbed by a knife, even gotten a bullet graze once, but none compared to the agony he was currently in. Jason hears the clowns laughter. However, he’s too busy trying to crawl away. Desperate to get away. Survive. Fighting till the bitter end. Pulling out his communicator in a naive thought that Batman could save him.

 

 _“Batman, help,”_ is all that he can get out. One last desperate plea for a savior that would come too late. Where his body won’t be found until the morning.

 

The clown places his hands on the entrance of the storm drain. Looking out at the attempting to flee vigilante. His laughter subsiding just long enough to get his words out.

 

“Need a hand kiddo? You seem to be lacking,” the taunting as cruel as its owner who says the words. His arms stretches out -inhumanely long- grabs the boy by the ankle and adds; “ _Oh, no, no, no._ Can't have you calling _Daddy Bat_ right now. He’d be so mad at the _mess_ you made, here let me _help_ you.”

 

One last pain-filled gasp leaves the area as the bleeding child would take his last breath. Laughter carrying over the rain that hits the pavement and mixing with the crimson left on the street.

 

\- - -

 

The morning sun brought a sense of dread within the Bat of Gotham. Sending him out during the day, when his persona was more of a creature of the night. When Bruce had arrived home around six that morning his life was changed forever. He had spent the night away from the manor working on a new project to help better his city at Wayne Enterprises. A project that later would become meaningless. Forgotten to the wayside for the discovery he would make within the hour. Taking the night off as Batman was hard for him to be convinced of doing, but Alfred made it a point that he could take it easy for just one night. Despite, good intentions, Alfred was mistaken. And, the guilt stricken look Bruce came home to, told the story well enough of what exactly transpired. A distress call had come from his ward and partner Jason Todd. One that in the long nights to follow Bruce would replay again and again, in a self-loathing driven insanity.

 

All he could think on now was finding Jason. Sunlight that wouldn’t cloak him in shadows and the risks of venturing out during the day, be damned. He would get his wish. Just not in the way he expected. The tracker led him soaring through the cloudy skies. Civilians who would happen to look up on that day would just catch a single glimpse of this cities protector.  

 

A sewer grate led him into the filth of this city. The smell horrendous and still he pressed forward. Fear for what he might find almost crippling him. Thinking the worst, but hoping for the best. Even when he stumbled across Killer Croc, the man made monster was no match for the Bat on a burning desperate crusade. Being left behind in a crumpled heap, and later would be more susceptible to the Bat’s growing rage in a misinformed assumption. The truth would be more horrifying than Bruce could ever fathom.

 

The tracker didn’t move locations and soon the metallic scent overpowered the sewage that clung to the sewers walls. Bruce could only hope then that the tracker had fallen off of Robin’s costume. One single turn down the narrow pathways quenched that hope and brought the Bat to his knees. Breaking him on the spot.

 

Against the wall, the corpse of his partner was hardly recognizable. Limbs severed and missing. Blue eyes glassy, but the look of true terror still palpable before the life was snuff out like a candle. A grotesque smile was carved into the boy’s countenance. The body was mangled. Like an animal had eaten parts of him and walked away. Head hanging limply at his side and Bruce could swear he could feel the blame radiating off his still form. Telling him what he already knew. _That this was his fault._ That he shouldn’t have listened to Alfred. That he should have kept a better eye on the child he had under his protection. Self-disgust caused him to vomit out into the grey water. Falling to his arms. His body trembling. And, for the first time since his parents had died in-front of him as a child, Bruce cried.

 

It was only after an unknowable amount of time passed, where Bruce could even find the will to move and carry Jason’s body home, that he would take notice of the writing on the wall. In blood the multiple written _HA HA’s_ would haunt his nightmares. Waking him up in a cold sweat where he swore he could hear laughter ringing in his ears in the long nights to come. _Perhaps, for the rest of his life._

 

\- - -

 

The week that followed in preparation for the funeral of his fallen partner went by in a blink for Bruce. He felt nothing, but numb to the world around him. Distant to the comfort of his friends and allies. At night the Bat was more bruta _l -unhinged-_ and crime had lowered in account of it. All, could see that he had changed. That nothing would ever be the same again.

 

“You need to eat, sir,” Alfred would try and persuade him in a heartfelt attempt for Bruce to take better care of himself.

 

“Not now.” Bruce would always respond, go back to his work and the old man would leave his ward. Wiping away tears that Bruce would never see.

 

“I can take care of Gotham, Bruce. You need to rest.” Dick who had come in from Blüdhaven at Alfred’s request would try to reason.

 

“I’m fine, Dick, you’re needed elsewhere.” Was the typical line of response Bruce would give.

 

No amount of arguing would change Bruce’s mind. It went on like that for days until a broken piece of equipment from Bruce losing his temper put a stop to that. The added guilt for that event just pushed him deeper into despair.

 

“Where’s that sidekick of yours, _Bats?_ Did you finally realize having a kid around ruins your image?” The thug who uttered those words ended up in a body cast.

 

“Something's happened. _You changed_. You nearly killed those men. What’s wrong with you?” Gordon had told him. It was the truth, but Bruce would never reply. Simply, leaving the scene the second Gordon turned his back or glanced away.

 

“My father’s been worried about you. _Hell, we all are._ Talk to us, Bruce.” Barbara had caught up with him on a rooftop that night.

 

“Don’t worry about it. What we should be focusing on is finding out who killed Robin.” Bruce’s voice was devoid of any emotion. Inside he was breaking and everyone knew it.

 

“Bullshit. You’re going to end up getting yourself killed with the way you’re pushing yourself. Or worst.” Barbara wasn’t like the others and wouldn’t let Bruce off easy. He could admire that quality about her, usually did, but not right now.

 

“If you want to help. _Then help._ If not, stay out of my way.” He growled and took off into the night.

 

That wouldn’t be their last encounter of that nature. It would continue to go on each time they both were around each other.

 

Now Bruce stood at his family’s private cemetery.  In a expensive suit that he felt was suffocating him. Watching the casket lowered into the ground. The sun shining in the sky mocking everyone’s pain with its indifference. During the memorial ceremony; Bruce wasn’t even able to find the words to say that he should have. An added fact to the growing list of his failures. He didn’t even remember shaking hands with his friends. The few that were permitted there anyway. As the service was a private one. He stood there in silence, even after the others went inside to talk amongst themselves. Most likely about how to handle Bruce’s deteriorating mental state.

 

Only then did the numb side of his mind finally come back to reality. For out in the distance behind the trees, he spotted something or more accurately someone that shouldn’t be there. The purple clad suit attire a dead giveaway to the intruders location. Bruce saw red. And, all the rage that had been building up since he found Jason’s body sent his legs moving against his accord.

 

The oddity of this unknown man’s presence made itself even more peculiar. For there on one of his long dead ancestors tombstone, sat a clown. The man was pulling out rose pedals one by one and only looked up at Bruce’s approach. A huge smile appearing on his face. Like the clown was greeting an old friend, despite being a stranger. Green orbs shinning mischievously. He glanced towards where Jason’s final resting place was. Not once stopping in destroying the flower in his hand. One blink passed and Bruce could swear that the flower had once been a blooming red, only to now be withered and dead.  He didn’t question it at the moment. Too caught up in his rage that someone would arrive unwanted at a time like this. Bruce could also just reason that it was his sleep deprived mind playing tricks on him.

 

“Who are you?” All pretense of politeness not even making an appearance. ”What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

 

The clown didn’t answer his questions. Simply, letting out a small snicker as he turned back to give Bruce a sickening sweet smile that wasn’t appropriate given the occasion.

 

“Nice day for a funeral, isn’t it?” He states with all the pleasantries of a madman. “A funeral always needs a clown. _Wouldn’t you agree, Brucie?_ How else can you put the fun in _FUNera_ l? _Hehe._ ”  

 

The clown was not disturbed in the slightest by the violent action of the grieving man. In fact he seems downright ecstatic. And, when he was grabbed roughly by the collar of his suit jacket; hoisted off the tombstone and lifted up in the air. All he did was lay one hand on Bruce’s wrist. The other holding out the dead flower as a twisted peace offering. His smile growing wider. His body letting out a shiver of uncontrolled delight.

 

“This some kind of sick joke?” He spats out. Venom leaking in his tone and his ever growing anger palpable. “If so, it’s not very funny. Leave. You’re not welcome here.” Bruce’s patience was already thin as it was. Ready to snap at a seconds notice. And, despite all the criminals he fought in this city, he knew in this instant there was no one he hated more than this trespassing clown.

 

“ _Silly, me._ Did I forget to tell you, that I’m welcomed _everywhere_ in this playground?” The clown taunts Bruce. A knowing look in his eyes that Bruce couldn’t decipher its true meaning. And, wouldn’t until the clown _deemed_ it was the right time.

 

“You’re insane,” He states and tosses the clown to the ground. Taking deep breaths to control himself. He couldn’t end up losing it. Not here. Not now. Not as Bruce Wayne. Obviously, this person was mentally ill to crash a funeral. “Go, before I call the police and have you escorted out.”

 

The clown giggles, standing to his feet. Takes a bow and offers out the flower again; only for Bruce to just glare at it.

 

“Don’t get so _testy,_ now. I just wanted to _meet_ you is all. _See, what all the fuss is about._ Have to say. I’m impressed.” another laughing fit encompasses that lithe form. Holding his sides to calm himself down, before grinning at Bruce. Offering the flower once more to take.

 

_Did those eyes just change color?_

 

_Another look._

 

_Still green._

 

_Perhaps, Dick was right and Bruce needed to get some rest._

 

Realizing that the clown had no intention of following his order, Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. Taking another deep breath. Then dropping his arm. Looking at the clown in the eyes. And, as best as he can manage, calmly states. “Well, you met me. You can go. I’m not seeing guests right now.”

 

“I can see that. Must be hard _losing_ a kiddo after all.” he doesn’t leave and Bruce’s fists clench at his side. He’d give everything he owned to punch that smug look off the clown’s face. Leave him bleeding on the floor. Taking out all his frustrations of his failures out on the man. It would be all to easy. But, he must resist the temptation. No matter how much it was calling him into action.

 

“It is,” he says. Hoping that agreeing would be enough to get this crazy person to leave. A second thought crosses his mind. More curiosity than anything making the comment come forth. “I didn’t get your name.”

 

“I know.” The clown says; indifferently.

 

“You know mine, and you came to all this trouble to meet me-“

 

“No, _trouble_ at all.” He gets interrupted.

 

  

“It would only be fair if I knew who you are.” He finishes as if the interruption never took place.

 

The clown just offers the flower out to him again. Silence passes, then says. “ _Take it,_ and I’ll tell you.” an easy trade. Although, not for Bruce.

 

Bruce huffs. Giving in if only to make this madness end sooner. Taking the flower and without hesitation crumbling it in his tight grip. He didn’t want the damn thing and didn’t care for it at all. Making that point known in the most obvious way that he could get the message across. The clown frowns for a small second at Bruce’s display. Adjusts his tie and smiles slightly. Contemplatively. Offering his hand out next to be shaken.

 

“Names Joker, don’tcha forget it.” Joker replies. His tone suddenly dangerous and threatening. A declaration and a threat all in one. Catching Bruce completely off-guard. He suddenly feels the way he does most nights as Batman. Facing down a foe that had all intents and purposes to end his life. Not afraid. But, cautious. Aware of the danger, but brave enough to tackle it head on. Defeat it. Come out on top. Though, by the gleam in those green eyes the Joker seemed to believe the exact opposite would be the case.

 

Before, Bruce could even respond, a voice in the distance calls his name. Causing a start to his system. He turns to look behind him.

 

“Master Bruce, lunch is ready.” It’s Alfred.

 

“Be there in a moment.” He calls back. Glad for the excuse to leave this odd encounter. Yet, when he turns back to inform Joker that he needs to leave the clown is nowhere to be seen.

 

Bruce blinks several times. Casting glances all around the cemetery. Knowing given the flashy attire it wouldn’t be all too difficult to spot where the clown had gotten off to. Nothing. Not a single person is there, but himself. For one second he thinks he might have imagined the whole thing. Only to be proven wrong when he looks down at the what used to be a flower. Dropping it instantly in shock and revulsion. His head spinning. Feeling like he’ll pass out at any second. Breathing coming in haggard as it feels like his heart has stopped. That time has slowed down to a snail's pace.

 

What lies on the ground is the bloody remains of Robin’s logo from Jason Todd’s costume. The yellow colored R painted over by a green smiley face.

 

 It’s only then that the answer to who killed Jason Todd that night a week ago is answered for Bruce. Leaving only countless more to take its place. Questions, that would haunt him for the foreseeable future. Leaving countless bodies to follow this revelation. A new game that he was unprepared for playing.

 

_A disappearing clown simply known as the Joker was to blame for the death._

 

_And, Bruce had seemed to gain the attention of his partners’ murderer in a way he never wanted._

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Iceberg Lounge was a well known establishment in Gotham City. Not in any  favorable light. At least to individual’s with a morally just system in place or any respect for the law. For others it was the perfect place to mingle with like-minded people. Either way, regardless of one’s personal affliction towards the establishment it was still infamous and driving. During the day socialites and politicians alike would flock to the Iceberg Lounge, attend parties, gamble, drink and waste their day’s away in a setting that only the rich could afford leaving on a positive note. However, during the night that where the not so subtle true intentions for the place came to light. Where, organized crime was the name of the game. Weapons deals, heists or any schemes would be the common talk. Anyone would be welcomed, if they could pay high enough and weren’t afraid of possibly leaving in a body bag. It was a business, one that was only allowed to exist because it’s owner although as vile, cruel, corrupt and bloodthirsty as he is, was in essence a coward who provided valuable information if persuaded in the right circumstances.

 

It was in the early morning hours, before the establishment would open for business that crime boss the Penguin would be in for the fright of his life. The hefty man was not one easily cowed, unless a certain Bat vigilante was involved. At least that used to be the case. Oswald Cobblepot, despite all his flaws could easily be described as determined _. A go-getter type_. He had risen to the top of the criminal underworld after the fall of the Crime families Falcone and Maroni were taken down by the Bat vigilante in the crime fighter’s first year under the cowl. And, Oswald took an opportunity when it was left out for him to grab. Now, many didn’t dare cross him unless they had a death wish. Even still, he had his enemies that wasn’t a man dressed as a Bat or the Gotham City Police Department. Rivals that wanted to see his abrupt end as much as he envisioned the same.

 

This morning however, would make the likes of Two Face and Black Mask seem like a mere annoyance than the person or more accurately speaking thing he would meet today.

 

It started as business as usual. Preparing the final touches for a meeting tonight to discuss the weapons deal that has been months in the planning. One that could turn Gotham into ashes under the boots of who paid the highest price. Although, his making blood money schemes were almost made void by the Bat and his partner Robin. The child being more of a hindrance and had managed to take down five of his warehouses all by himself. It would be admirable work, if it happened towards his rivals instead of himself. But, the child had stopped meddling or as the rumor mill was going around vanished altogether three weeks ago. Whatever the cause, Oswald would have bought whoever was responsible a drink every night in his establishment for a year if he knew them. A thought, he’d quickly change his mind when that became a reality.

 

When he had finished setting up the arrangements to meet at the Gotham pier, the Penguin was ready to open for business as was the norm with needing to keep appearances. His four bodyguards trailing close behind him as he made it into the main dining room. Only, to be stopped in his movements when his gaze landed on a sight that made his blood burn. A woman sat at his private table, martini in hand, that she didn’t seem to be drinking, acting as if she belonged there. Normally, this wouldn’t have caused as much alarm as it did, but he was a paranoid man -for good reason- to not see the red-flags that something was amiss.

 

That and the fact of how she even got in here in the first place when he gave specific orders not to allow patrons in until he was good and ready. Which meant that there was disobedience in those he hired and that slight against his title as mob boss would not go unpunished.

 

Turning his attention to the men next to him ready to reprimand them, perhaps have his establishment open later due to needing to clean blood off the floors, that’s when the oddity of this day started to make itself known.

 

“Alright mates, who was the one that let the minx in?” His blood pressure skyrockets by their confused looks at each other and then at him. As if the day has finally come that he’s lost his mind.

 

 _“Who ya talkin’ about_ boss?” Joey or more accurately who used to be Joey until the sharp end of an umbrella is being stabbed through his neck asks.

 

The other three men are taken back by the death of one of their own. Although, it wasn’t a new occurrence, they couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it this time. Their fearful steps back only make the Penguin more on edge and paranoid. Only confirming his suspicions that there were traitors in his mix. A thought, that was driving him insane as today was not the time to come to this realization when he needed everything to go according to plan.

 

“Right, any more idiotic questions? No? Well then, let me ask again. Who let the minx in here” No one answers his question. To afraid to say the wrong thing, and right when he’s about to fly off the handles, the sound of shrill laughter catches his attention. His head snaps so quickly to the table that he might get whiplash. Eyes narrowing at the lithe form of the woman. Rage seething to the boiling point.

 

“What’s so funny!” He shouts out, making the other men jump in surprise.

 

“Boss?” One asks cautiously only to be ignored when the woman answers the original question.

 

 _“You are, Pengy,”_ she mocks his status with a nickname; only making the mob boss even more murderous. She raises her filled glass to him, one hand sweeping away a stray green curl from her forehead. Smiling, she adds. “Isn’t it obvious yet, that those fine _blokes_ can’t even see me?” Another giggle. “Perhaps, I’m just a figment inside your mind. Maybe, you’re going crazy,” her slender finger does a spinning motion by her head to emphasize her point. “Doesn’t matter. What does, is you and I have a business proposition to discuss. So, why don’t you tell your men to bugger off,” she mocks his feigned accent, “or kill them, that was a nice sight too, and have a seat. I promise, you’ll like what I have to say.” She tips her glass towards the seat in-front of her.

 

Despite the mocking tone of the woman, the words business proposition did pipe his interest; just slightly. He wasn’t naive though. He didn’t trust her. Not one bit. The majority of individuals who wanted to deal with him, knew the rules he set in place, if they didn’t they learned. And, there was the added fact that his men were oblivious to her presence. Which only led to two possibilities to that cause in his mind. One, they were faking it to make him drop his guard and there would be an attempt on his life. That was the worst possibility to him, although the second one wasn’t as flattering as well. The minx might also be controlling him men in some form. Oswald knew that possibility was probable. He’s seen firsthand what the likes of Poison Ivy could do. So, that didn’t make this situation any better. Whichever it was, he didn’t fear her.

 

He should have and would come to learn that very thing shortly.

 

“Why should I be bothering with what you might have to offer?” He simply replies. Ready to spill her blood at a moment’s notice. His grip on the handle of his umbrella tightening. Her gaze glances at his grip and her smile grows.

 

His men seem even more perplexed as they mutter to themselves unnoticed.

 

“Because,” she gives a shrug. “It’s about dealing with this city’s Bat infestation.”

 

That’s the only thing that Oswald needed to hear to be convinced to spend what little time he was willing on this woman. He moves forward. Not even shooting his men a look as he commands. _“You boys, can go,”_ a pause. “Tell the cooks to bring me my breakfast.”

 

Neither men question the oddity of their employer’s actions. Preferring to get away from the man they all thought went crazy and save their own skins. Only giving an affirmative and leaving the room as fast as they could without being noticeable that they were fleeing.

 

Oswald takes his seat across from her. Still holding onto his umbrella. One single wrong move of hers and he wouldn’t hesitate to leave a bloody mess behind. Now, that he was closer he could make out her features in more detail. She was pale; deathly so. Her hair was short and green, same color as her eyes and dress. Her makeup however caught his attention. The blue eye-shadow and the very odd choice of two red lines running down her face. Her ruby painted lips split into a wide grin when she caught sight of his staring.

 

 _Gotham really did bring out the crazies._ He thinks to himself.

 

“I normally don’t do business with people who don’t bother telling me who they are. Let alone those who sneak into my club.” He comments after closing in on a minute of both sizing each other up. Making it clear he had no patience for games. That she was on thin ice when it came to him.

 

She places a hand to her chest. Giving an aghast expression. He knew when someone was putting on an act; this time was no different.

 

“Forgive my rudeness,” She didn’t sound apologetic at all. “I’m _Bianca Steeplechase_. Perhaps, you’ve _heard_ of me?” Her finger slides against the rim of her drink. A smirk on her lips.

 

Oswald has in fact never heard of her. Not even once and he did know most of the criminals in Gotham. At least the ones who made a name for themselves. And, his belief that this woman could offer anything useful towards finally putting an end to Batman was dwindling to non-existence. With it, his mercy of letting this woman live and make a mockery of him.

 

“Can’t say that I have.” He says not friendly in the least.

 

 _“Hmm, pity,”_ she states more to herself. “Although, unsurprising. If you were around last time I was,” a pause. “you could say, _active in Gotham,_ I doubt I would have paid much attention to you either.” Her remark is biting. Causing Penguin to slam his hand on the table and lean forward in anger. She doesn’t seem phased at all by the action. Just spinning her drink in her hand.

 

“I’ll warn you this once, watch that tongue of yours before you lose it. I won’t be made a fool of in my establishment.” Penguin growls out. Spittle hitting the table cloth on the table.

 

She’s silent for a moment. Then says, _“Pliers or a knife?”_ the question catches him off guard.

 

“What?” He raises a brow.

 

“To cut out my tongue. _Would you use pliers or a knife?_ Could try crushed glass, I suppose, but that method is a tad messy,” she glances to the side as a woman walks out carrying a platter of food. “It’s a nice choice, if you want to paint a pretty canvas.” she hums to herself in thought.

 

Before, Penguin could respond his waitress places the platter on the table. She waits for a terse moment expecting an order -maybe a thank you- only to be waved off and receive a scowl for her troubles. Oswald doesn’t touch the food brought out to him though, keeping his gaze locked on the woman in front of him. He waits until the sound of a door closing to speak up towards his uninvited guest.

 

“You talk as if you’ve tried those methods before,” Penguin doubts that very thing. As off as the woman might seem, he still wasn’t entirely convinced of what she might be capable of. His doubts being very misplaced in this instance.

 

A frown graces that chalk white countenance of hers. _“Me?”_ A shake of her head. “ _Nah,_ I would prefer much more creative means for that type of fun.” She sounds offended at his implications. As if it’s beneath her. “All I was doing was offering some pointers.” Her smile returns. Now Penguin is the one left insulted by her blatant audacity.

 

“Save them for someone else,” he scoffs. “I don’t need _advice_ from some _nobody_ who as far as I can see is all talk and no bite,” He sneers at her. Thinking himself above her. “Claim as you might to have been _active_ in Gotham before to be of noteworthy, I still doubt that proclamation. You really come off as more of a _loon_ than anything else.”

 

For only a moment does Oswald feel like he’s turned the tables on his company. His ignorance clouding his judgment and the need to feel superior is more over reaching than it should have been. Although it doesn’t last when she starts laughing. Seemingly, more amused than feeling put down like he was aiming for. His grip tightens even more on the handle of his umbrella. Ready to pump her full of lead and go about his day. Unawares that would not go as well as he thinks it would.

 

_Not with her._

 

_Never with her._

 

When she calms down enough for her laughing fit to subside, she casts him a smirk that’s crazed instead of charming, and Penguin can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine at the sight. “What even _classifies_ as a _loon_ these days anyway?”

 

“Excuse me?” He responds.

 

“The definition seems _muddled_ now,” musing more to herself than the one she’s speaking to. “I mean, just look at this putrid city!” She exclaims loudly. Causing a start to Penguin’s heart. Her voice seemingly to come from everywhere around him that he tries to reason is just an echo; nothing more. “How much that’s _changed_ over the years. How could anyone even determine who’s bat shit crazy and who’s not, when everywhere someone looks there’s a person dressed in some flashy costume? _So, many of them, in fact_ , that it’s astounding people aren’t tripping over them left and right!” Gesturing with her hand towards Oswald she adds. “And, all those clever alias that they come up with! _Ha! Like look at you!_ Who in their _right mind_ would ever be _intimidated_ by someone who calls themselves Penguin?” She snaps her fingers, letting out another snicker. “ _Yet, in Gotham people are!_ It’s complete lunacy! _Oh! How I love it!_ ” More loud chortles finishes her small speech and Penguin is just left sitting there staring wide eyed at her.

 

Oswald has dealt with all sorts of people in his time in Gotham, yet right now he feels none could compare to this woman sitting in front of him. The more time he spends around her, the more he wants her to leave. Beating around the bush didn’t suit him in the least and right now he felt this conversation was going nowhere fast. As if she only came here in an attempt to drive him off the walls. Time being wasted was one of his biggest pet-peeves and his patience has finally reached the breaking point. Once she stops laughing he doesn’t hesitate to make this known.

 

“I’m a very busy man and all you’re doing is squandering my precious time, get to the point or leave.” His glare leaves no room for argument.

 

 _“Aren’tcha going to eat?”_ She asks suddenly, her green eyes glancing towards his untouched platter. _“Smells pretty good from where I’m sitting,”_ A knowing smirk just makes him seethe. “Will you be a good host and offer me some?”

 

“ _Steeplechase,_ you’re _testing_ my patience.” It’s his last warning and finally he notices the change in her demeanor shift. From playful to more downright serious.

 

 “Earlier you brought up how you don’t like to be made a fool of in your establishment, correct?” She brings up and it echoes the irony of how this whole meeting has gone.

 

“Yes, but what-“ He isn’t allowed to finish before she continues.

 

“But, that seems to be an almost nightly _occurrence_ for you, isn’t it?” He opens his mouth to reply, but again isn’t allowed to get a single word out. “All because the _Bat i_ sn’t very fond of your _prosperous_ activity’s. Always raining on your parade. _Such a shame._ ” She sounds sympathetic, not that he buys it for a second. Although, he does agree with her.

 

“Batman is a thorn in my side, just like he is for everyone in my line of work.” He states the obvious.

 

“I’d reckon that you’re a _thorn_ in his as well,” she responds. And, Oswald hopes that’s the case. That all his achievements makes the Dark Knight feel like he’s swallowing cyanide on the daily.  

 

 _“Your point?”_ Oswald asks. Just wanting this meeting to be done with. See what she has to say and either make a deal or send her out to be disposed of at the pier. Either outcome was fine with him.

 

“My point is, let’s make that thorn in his side a _knife_ rending his flesh. Splitting him wide open to see what _goodies_ are inside.” Green orbs are hypnotizing as she leans forwards. Capturing him in his seat by the intensity of her stare.

 

It’s a pleasant imagery for his mind. Seeing the Batman ripped open, left to bleed out and never see the light of day again. A fantasy that Oswald has had countless times over the years, but one that has always been unobtainable. Every single person who has gone up against the Bat has always lost. Every single damn time. Batman was a force not easily reckoned with and that was a fact even Penguin begrudgingly had to admit. Especially these days. It was painfully obvious that Batman wasn’t playing soft ball with any criminals wandering the street these nights. Rumors were going around that the self-proclaimed protector of Gotham was leaving more and more men in body casts. Or with crippling injuries. Some have even claimed that he had started murdering _blokes_ , but he didn’t believe that for one second. Batman didn’t kill, but he could get as close to that if he so choose. And, nowadays that seemed to be his decision more often than not.

 

“As much as I’d like to see that happen, how do you exactly _plan_ for that to be accomplished?” He questions; incredulously. Unbelieving that this minx could accomplish what so many others have tried and failed over the years.

 

“Glad you asked my _feathered_ friend,” She smirks at his scowl. “That’s where _you_ come in.”

 

“I’d rather stay off his radar as much as possible,” he admits. He had too much riding on tonight to go well and to many plans for the future to catch the Bats wrath.

 

“That’s the good news!” She bounces in her seat. “Your name won’t be dragged through the mud, _if you do what I have planned._ ”

 

“Is that a threat?” It sure as hell sounded like one to him.

 

Shaking her head, she responds, “Not at all, just more of my wonderful helpful advice.” That still sounded more threatening than it should have.

 

“I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?” Despite, what her intentions sounded like, his interest was already piped.

 

“You currently have men infiltrating _Blackie Mic Maskie’s_ and _Half Burnt face_ gangs, right?” That was information she should not have possessed. Only those he employed for the task was aware of this. And, that’s the moment that any doubt he had about this woman prowess fades to non-existence.

 

“How’d you know-“ He starts to utter; bewildered.

 

 _“Not relevant,”_ it very much was to him. “Point being, is all I want you to do is order a couple _murders_ and let the _chips_ fall where they need to.” She comments as if it’s the easiest task in the world.

 

_“I don’t follow.”_

 

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Her mood soured instantly and in that second Penguin found himself looking his possible death in the face. Or, more accurately glowing yellow eyes that replaced green. _“Gang war, arctic bird. Start a gang war.”_ Her smile is tauntingly cruel.

 

Oswald is sitting there stock still. Paralyzed in his seat. Unable to look away from those yellow eyes that shouldn’t be that color. Wondering if he’s truly hallucinating now. He’d honestly believe that. After all only he had seen this woman when his men couldn’t. But, he wasn’t crazy, despite his short stay at Arkham a few years back, he knew he wasn’t like the people locked away there. Maybe, he’s been drugged? Regardless, that thought doesn’t hold much weight either when he knows he hasn’t eaten or drank anything all morning. He finds himself suddenly speechless. Unable to process any words that want to come out. When she jerks forward to fast for him to see coming, his body jumps back in his seat. Almost toppling the chair and therefore himself to the ground. She doesn’t attack him like he was expecting. Only places her hand on the handle of the platter lid.

 

 _“I’m sure, you’ll make me proud,”_ that was one hundred percent a threat. And, she wasn’t even hiding that fact now. All pretense of not being a danger to his life gone. “Let us celebrate and have some of this _delicious_ food your slaved staff have prepared; shall we?” She lifts off the lid to the platter. Putting it to the side. And, although Oswald didn’t want to take his eyes off from those two glowing orbs staring right back at him, the movement forced him to look down. His stomach drops at the sight.

 

On the plate there are fish. Not an unusual order for him in anyway, but these were like nothing he has ever seen before. They are pale white, green stripes against their gills, but their faces make him start to dry heave. That and the smell. The rot  of their corpses overwhelming. For their cheeks in rigor mortis were pulled back impossibly wide, like a twisted version of a smile. Lips as red as the woman’s lipstick choice. Those death glazed eyes the same unnatural yellow color as her own. Staring hauntingly up at him. Almost like they follow his movements. Only when the bodies start to twitch does Penguin shoot out of his chair, and then a second later the lights go out. Leaving him stranded in the dark. He can hear footsteps running towards him. Shouts that he can’t make out what’s being said. Then to be cut off abruptly. He feels something wet splattered against his face, causing him to stumble backwards. Hitting a chair with his lack of sight and causing him to crash to the ground where he stays. Laughter rings around the room. Both sounding feminine and masculine at the same time. Echoing off the walls and drilling into his brain. His breathing comes out rapidly. Heartbeat pounding away in his ears. More liquid coats his face causing his eyes to clench shut.

 

Then all the chaos stops and light could be seen through his eyelids. He doesn’t want to look. Wants to run away, but the silence around him is deafening and right now ignorance is not bliss for his own survival. Tensely, he opens his eyes, blinking away the liquid, when that doesn’t work he wipes at it to see his hand comes back blood crimson. A panicked filled gasp leaves him and he looks up. Standing right in the middle of the room is the woman. Although, her attire has changed. Instead of a green dress, she wears a dripping wet bloodstained purple blouse top, purple colored slacks and she’s staring right at him. Those yellow eyes startling brighter than when they first appeared. Corpses of his hired men lay sprawled around her feet, but the worst part is those grotesque fish. Dozens have appeared out of nowhere. He can hear them gnawing away at the remains with rows upon rows of shark like teeth. All the while their smiles never falter. The sound of flesh being ripped away, tendons stretching and snapping off make him gag. He can’t watch, and his gaze goes back to the woman who is smiling like a performer who just pulled the finale act waiting on bated breath for the applause that would never come. She doesn’t say a word. Just gives a small bow, waves her hand at him, and when Oswald blinks, her and all the chaos disappears with it.

 

_No more bodies._

 

_No more blood._

 

_No more fish._

 

_Like nothing ever happened._

 

Except one reminder he would find when he finally rose to his feet closing in on ten minutes now, removing the platter lid that delusions him into believing that all that transpired was in his mind. For what he finds is fresh normal looking fish, except there is a carved message in their flesh. Leaving him with the conclusion that he would not be opening his establishment today.

 

 _‘Don’t disappoint me.’_ Is the message left for him, that he intends to follow through with for his own sake.

 

\- - -

 

Bruce sat at the Bat-computer. His suit on and ready for the night except for his cowl. His loyal butler standing right behind him. The blood stained Robin logo sitting in his field of view. Ever since his bizarre meeting in the cemetery, Bruce has been determined more than usual. Trying every possible avenue to get any information on the clown who called himself the Joker. Only to be left frustrated and disappointed each time when nothing would surface to the light.

 

 _“It’s like he appeared out of thin air.”_ He muses to himself. _“But, that’s impossible, there has to be something.”_

 

“Sir?” Alfred asks. For the Butler has been standing there for closing in on five minutes now having more of a one-sided conversation than anything else.

 

 _“Perhaps, I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”_ Bruce doesn’t reply to his father figure. Still speaking to himself. Distracted in his desperation to find the Joker.

 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred tries again. This time actually getting a glance of acknowledgement. The older man appears apprehensive. Not a trait regarded to him before and that instantly catches all of Bruce’s attention.

 

“What is it, Alfred?” He asks; calmly. He watches as Alfred takes a deep breath. Straightening up and Bruce knows then that whatever Alfred has to say that he’s not going to like it.

 

“This Joker character, you’ve been searching for and _claimed_ to have met,” he pauses. Steadying himself for a blow out if it comes, and resigning himself for it anyway. “Is it possible that you might have i _magined_ him?”

 

Bruce doesn’t like those implications and spins his chair around to face the older man. Grabbing Robin’s log in the process.

 

“And, _what about this,_ Alfred? Am I _imagining_ this as well?” he holds up the logo. Eyes narrowed. Almost daring Alfred to continue on this line of conversation. The butler’s demeanor changes. Shoulders sagging, and the guilt starts to eat away at Bruce’s heart.

 

“Heavens, no, sir. That’s not what I meant. It’s just you haven’t been yourself since,” a pause and his voice cracks. “Master Jason’s passing,” he takes a terse moment to regain his composure and continues. “Sir, you haven’t been sleeping and we were all at the funeral and none of us saw what you described,” Alfred tries not to sound accusatory, but that’s what Bruce hears anyway. “I’m just concerned that perhaps...” He looks away unable to finish and Bruce lets out a sigh of his own.

 

“I know, it sounds insane,” Bruce gives in. Keeping his glance downwards and feeling his butlers stare penetrate back on him. _“But, I know what I saw,”_ he more of tries to convince himself. It works just enough. “Whoever Joker is, he’s the one who _killed_ Jason. _And, I need to find him.”_ He feels his father figures hand rest upon his shoulder and he takes what comfort that he can from it. Admittedly not much and that makes the self-loathing even worst.

 

 _“I don’t disagree._ I want the murderer found as much as you do, _but I worry for you,_ Master Bruce.” Bruce can’t fight back against the concern of the older man. No matter how much it makes his chest tighten. The ache in heart worsen. He wishes that he could take all of Alfred’s fears away, but he can’t find the words he needs to accomplish that.

 

 _“Trust me on this.”_ Is all he can respond. Another sigh heard feels like a knife sliding into his heart. Bleeding him out. Tearing at his resolve to stick to his path.

 

 _“I do and I always have.”_ Alfred states and Bruce believes him and he doesn’t want to right now.

 

Because, in the end, he feels like he’s swimming in the dark depths of insanity. Driving himself mad in a pursuit that as more time passes he starts to question himself is even possible. His hands fall into his lap. Gripping tightly on the Robin costumes logo as a life-line. For that is real. Something, he can touch and see. That was given to him. Which only meant that the Joker has to exist as well. That Bruce wasn’t running head first into a padded cell in Arkham for his troubles. That despite the lack of available information the Joker had to have a past. A name, address, family, maybe friends and if that was true then Bruce would stop at nothing to find him and get justice that Jason rightly deserved. Even with his ironclad will it didn’t change the fact of how drained he truly felt. How much weight was crushing him down mentally.

 

Or, take away the laughter he claims to hear when no one is around. Following him wherever he goes. Keeping him aware of its demanding presence.

 

Alfred like always can see his distress and offers a much needed distraction from the unbridled guilt that is sending his ward to an early grave. He removes his hand and clears his throat. Taking Bruce away from his thoughts at least for the time being.

 

“I found something of Master Jason’s,” Alfred utters those words and Bruce is instantly attentive. He doesn’t respond; just raises a questioning brow. Alfred takes the hint and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a flash drive that Bruce doesn’t hesitate to take when it’s offered to him. “It would appear, that the lad was doing some _detective_ work of his own. _I wonder where he got that trait from?”_ The tone is teasing, and Bruce welcomes the change of pace.

 

“Thank you, Alfred. I’ll look into it.” He states as he turns the chair around again.

 

“My pleasure as always, sir.” Knowing that the gears in Bruce’s head had shifted, and that there would be no more two-way conversations tonight, he takes his leave. Hoping that this might be just enough to set Bruce on a less destructive path than the one he was currently on.

 

The contents on the flash drive was impressive, Bruce had to admit. Names with extensive background checks of Penguin’s hired goons were all listed. Locations of warehouse as well which ones were already taken care of. Lists of weapons that were stolen and planning to be sold on the black market as well as times and dates of those sales. Catching his attention more was the date of one scheduled for tonight. Already, the grieving numbness being pushed back into his mind to deal with later. Batman had work to do. A city to protect and Penguin was reaching the top of his list. Especially, since this was the project that Jason had been working on before he died. That needed to be seen through to the end. It’s what his partner would have wanted. He might have been filled with an uncontrollable desire to find the Joker, but right now that wasn’t bearing any fruit. This he could accomplish. _Right now._ He sets the blood stained logo aside, giving a silent promise to the dead.

 

_Bruce stands up, grabbing his cowl and ready to head off into the night._

 

_At least until he catches the sight of a flash of purple movement in his peripheral vision._

 

_His heart skips a beat in his chest as he quickly turns in the direction that caught his attention._

  
Nothing is there. And, the _insanity_ that was all consuming him comes back full force, when he puts his cowl on, completing the transformation from Bruce Wayne to Batman while doing his best to ignore the _laughter_ that he swears is _echoing_ off the cave walls all around him.


	3. Chapter 3

The night air is chilled while it chips away at the armor of the Bat-suit to demand its presence be felt by the vigilante that watches a weapons deal from his vantage point on a rooftop. Bruce ignores it, just like he ignores the anxiety he feels down to his bones. It’s not the Penguin or his men that make him feel the way he did. He could handle them effortlessly. What has been plaguing his mind was the sensation that he was being watched wherever he went to get here. How the sound of laughter followed him where he went as he had glided through the Gotham sky. Though, the source being undetected; making him question his mental state. Self-doubt was hazardous to his health. Especially with his crusade. One slip up would be all it would take for his night to decide if he’d go home to a nice warm bed or end up in the Gotham City morgue. Bruce needed to stay focused no matter what. It just wasn’t so easy this night to do so.

 

Movement from the rooftop across from him catches his attention from his darkening thoughts. One, of Penguin’s snipers. He’d have to take them down first before proceeding. Standing to his full height, he grabs his grappling gun from his utility belt- only to be stopped when a quick flash of yellow and black grabs his attention. Eyes narrowing, he watches as the thug is knocked unconscious by no other than Batgirl. For a split second he questions how she knew to come here only for the sound of someone landing behind him catches his attention.

 

Casting a glance behind him; he sees his former Robin. The first Robin now known as Nightwing. The missing pieces in his mind click together and a sigh escapes his lips.

 

“Looks like Alfred decided it would be best to share Intel with me last.” Bruce states with some humor in his voice.  

 

Dick moves closer to him. Staying silent to not give away their location to Penguin’s men. His grin is wide and for the first time in three weeks, Bruce welcomes the sight.

 

“What can I say, the old man wanted to _surprise_ you.” He comments.

 

 _“I am,”_ Bruce responds; turning his attention back to the mission at hand. _“I could have handled this myself, you know.”_ He couldn’t stop himself from saying the words that only leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Dick crouch’s down next to him; after waving to Barbara which she returns the gesture.

 

”Oh, I know, but nothing wrong with a little nostalgia. Is there, Bruce?” Dick teases him and Bruce simply rolls his eyes. Staying silent, prompting Dick to keep on talking. “Besides, Gotham’s been pretty _dull_ lately. _You couldn’t honestly expect Babs and me,_ to not want in on the fun of taking Penguin down. Can’t save all that pleasure for yourself.” He jokes, although it’s the wrong thing to say at the time. He didn’t mean any maliciousness in his words, but it hurts Bruce all the same.

 

It was rarely spoken about in the Bat-Family of the reasons why Gotham’s crime had lowered to an all time low. Only, Barbara would ever bring it to light instead of leaving the implications in the shadows where it belonged. Batman has always been a violent approach to the crime this city offered. Everyone knew that. Wouldn’t ever attempt to deny it. But, these past three weeks were different. Bruce was different and criminals feared him now more than ever. It should have been considered a good thing that his recent approach was so effective and in some ways it was. But, at the end of the day it still was a testament that the Batman was not himself. That he wasn’t handling everything as well as he should be. And, the regretful part of him knew that Jason would have approved of his change of tact. Jason had always been quick to resort to brutality over restraint. Something, Bruce had always try to correct, but never had the chance to succeed with. In the end, his young ward had paid for that mindset with his life and Bruce was starting to follow a very similar path.

 

This must have been the reason why Alfred planned for this night to go this way. Why he decided to inform Batgirl and Nightwing of Penguin’s plans with enough time for them to prepare before Bruce even got a whiff of information. A not so subtle way to pull him back from the edge. Although, he was thankful for the care his father figure had for him, tonight he couldn’t stop from feeling a tad resentful for it as well. He didn’t need reminders of how far he was falling, not when the Joker was still free and at large. Bruce needed to hold onto that vengeful wrath that was burning him inside. It kept him going. Kept him from self-destructing in self-loathing for his failures. In a horribly morbid way that feeling was his lifeline on his sanity. Or, what was left of it given the laughter he would hear when he’s alone. The flashes of purple movement that he saw earlier that turned up to be nothing. Either way, despite, how tired Bruce was, he’d only truly rest when he finally dealt with the Joker.

 

Dick sensing Bruce’s brooding mood decides it’s best to switch gears on the goal at hand. He interrupts Bruce’s thoughts by saying, “Doesn’t Penguin seem a bit off to you tonight? Normally, he’s all cocky, acting like he’s on top of the world, by what I remember, but now..” a pause as if he’s not sure how to explain it. Bruce luckily helps him out.

 

“I’ve noticed,” He states. Which was true. He did notice and was cautious about the sudden demeanor change. An unforeseeable variable that he needed to take into account. A small percentage of him wanted to write it off as the crime boss being paranoid of the weapons deal not going off without a hitch. A reasoning that seemed plausible given how much Robin had been ruining his plans for the past few months. Yet, that didn’t seem right to him. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something else at play here. Penguin looked way to nervous or more accurately terrified. Casting glances around everywhere and even in the dark, sweat glistened off his white dress shirt viewable by the hanging light-polls. Penguin wasn’t in his right mind tonight. That was obvious. He didn’t like the factored in unpredictability, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way of his goals.

 

The com-link in his cowl sparked to life and Barbara’s voice made it out clear to both links for Bruce and Dick.

 

“Are we doing this or not? I have a test tomorrow that I still have to study for and I don’t want to go home smelling like the pier if I can help it. My father would have a field day with that one.” Her voice is sarcastically playful. Another reminder for Bruce of how much he truly did miss working with the two of them almost nightly. Some static and then she adds, “Unless you boys, want to sit back and watch me take care of this? _That works for me too._ You both might learn something new.” Dick lets out a small chuckle at that one that Bruce shoots him a glare of warning to keep quiet.

 

“Well, are we ready old man?” Dick teases Bruce.

 

“I’m not that old,” Bruce states; standing to his full height and Dick follows suite. Tapping the side of his cowl for Barbara can hear him as well. “On the count of three, _one,”_

 

 _“Two,”_ Dick adds. Cracking his neck and getting one stretch out before the fight begins.

 

 _“Three.”_ Barbara speaks through the com link.

 

And, that’s when the chaos starts. Bruce drops a smoke bomb bellow to disorient the unprepared men. As always, it does the intended trick and all three vigilantes land to the ground below. Dick pulling off several flips because he could, while Barbara and Bruce glide down. It takes four seconds for five men to be incapacitated on their arrival. Shouts are heard on the wind. Gunshots following shortly after only for a couple to be stopped a few seconds later. Bones twist and break. Men fall to the ground unconscious in spades or screaming in pain and unable to fight back anymore. And, for the first time in weeks Bruce is finally feeling like himself again.

 

 _“God damnit! One of you kill the Bat already!”_ Penguin shouts as he opens fire; not caring one bit who he hits just as long as it would eventually hit its mark.

 

Despite, being under heavy fire the advantage stays in the three vigilantes favor. Punches make contact, kicks delivered and batarangs are thrown. Nothing seems to slow the Bat-Family down. Working with each other in a sort of dance that was mastered over the years. When they were together they were unstoppable. A fact, Bruce has learned years ago, but distances himself from remembering as much as he could. Their team up wouldn’t last. He knew that deep down. Soon, Dick would return to his own city, and Batgirl would patrol Gotham by herself again. As for Bruce, he’d end up alone when that time came. Something, he was used to in the early years and most likely wouldn’t impact him in to much of a negative light. At the same time he feels solemn about it. As he snaps a thugs arm like a twig, he can’t help but almost be washed away in his growing emotions. Making his movements slightly sloppy. Just enough for a tire iron to hit him in the back of the head.

 

The force would have split his skull wide open if he didn’t have the protection his cowl. Regardless, it does make his vision temporarily blurry, still, it doesn’t stop him from spinning on his heel, delivering a swiping kick and knocking the man who hit him to the ground. Just in time for Batgirl to deliver a kick of her own to the man’s head and leaving him unconscious. The action made him dizzy. But, the fighting continued on as usual. However, with a pounding headache comes flashes of something or more accurately someone that makes Bruce lose even more concentration.

 

Red, yellow and green are the colors he makes out. The form of a child taking down thugs with techniques he’s learned from Bruce. And, he can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s only flashes that appear and vanish just as quickly during the fight, but it changes the Bat. Makes him faster. More brutal in his takedowns. Trying to reach the child that keeps appearing and disappearing from sight. His mind going on autopilot. He can hear laughter ringing in his ears. The same type of laughter he would hear when he took Jason out as Robin for the first few months and the child would be excited for winning a fight. It’s a pleasant sound and one he terribly missed. He must be going crazy. No one else seems to notice what he is seeing and it makes him angrier. _Violent._ An ever growing madness that wants to corrupt his every fiber. The colors change with his mood and no longer does he see the child that he failed, but flashes of purple and green. Catching small sights of a ruby painted smile that was recently haunting his nightmares. The Batman lunges towards the sight. Hits something more solid and knocks both himself and his target to the ground. Punches flow instinctually. Feeling something crack under his fist. His vision is tunneled. All he sees is that smile. And, then suddenly, he’s yanked back roughly by two arms. His body wanting to retaliate only for a familiar voice to bring him back to the present.

 

 _“Batman, that’s enough. He’s down. Stop.”_ It’s Dick calling to him and Bruce goes stiff in his arms. Head clearing of the fog he was in, only to be left horrified by his actions. Penguin lays there at his feet. Bleeding profusely from wounds on his face. Unmoving. Looking like he’s dead. And, that thought terrifies him more than anything.

 

 _“I, didn’t.. I thought...”_ he doesn’t know what to say. And, Dick finally lets him go when the fight leaves Batman’s body. Dick steps to his side, but just like Bruce it looks like he doesn’t know what to say either. He welcomes the silence. Needs it as he can’t tear his blue eyes away from what he’s done.

 

Barbara checks on Penguin. Informs them both that he’s alive, but will probably need medical treatment. Bruce barely hears her. Casting glances at the other men on the ground and instantly knowing which ones he took down over his allies. Wondering how many he’s crippled this time around.

 

“Batman, it’s alright.” Dick tries to say after he contacts James Gordon himself since Bruce isn’t in the mental space to do it.

 

 _“No, it’s not, Dick.”_ He whispers quietly for only the three of them to hear.

 

“I’m sorry to say this, but Batman is right,” Barbara places herself into the conversation that neither wanted her in right now. However, her honesty although blunt, is needed given the direness of the situation. _“He went to far.”_

 

“It was just a slip up,” Dick shakes his head. Trying to reason with himself. Even if he cringes at the sight at hand of the aftermath of Bruce’s violence. “A loss of control. _It’s understandable._ After-“ Bruce never hears the end of that sentence. Because, it was in that moment was when he decided to look towards the skyline. Seeing someone looking down at them with a huge grin plastered on his chalk-white face. The Joker was there and Bruce reacted immediately, grappling up and leaving both his allies to clean up his mess.

 

_They don’t follow him._

 

_Perhaps, they should have._

 

Bruce felt his adrenaline surge in the few seconds it took for the force of his grappling gun to pull him up into the sky. Already, letting his mind drift from his actions on the ground below. Being carried away into the air as his own body was. He was close. So, close to catching the Joker that he wouldn’t let anything else interfere right now. Not his self-loathing or his slipping grasp on the world around him. All he needed was to feel the clowns bones break under his fist. Spill his blood on the ground like what had been done to Jason. The ledge of the roof is about two seconds away and in that time he imagines close to twenty different scenarios for how’d he take down the clown. Each one more violent than the last. His hands grab the ledge; yanks himself up ready to act out the imagery in his mind. Only to have his sanity slip away from him faster than a bullet piercing the wind and going straight into a person's heart.

 

He could have reasoned away the clown disappearing from his sight like earlier that night. Even reasoned that it might have been his exhausted mind that made him see the clown during the fight only to be proven wrong. What he does see, he has no explanation other than, perhaps, he’s finally earned himself a padded room in Arkham. For standing on the roof isn’t the clown at all. But, his former deceased partner Jason Todd. Looking almost as awful as when Bruce found his body. His right arm is missing. Blood still dripping from the wound, but when Bruce looks down he doesn’t see any droplets of crimson on the ground where it should be. There’s the carved smile in his face. And, even if the cuts made him look like he was smiling all the time, Bruce is certain that he actually is right now. He holds a crowbar in his hand. That has fresh wet blood on it. His eyes are different however. In a way that Bruce holds onto to stop himself from falling off the ledge to plummet into lunacy. For one eye is a glassy blue, and the other a vibrant yellow.

 

“Jason,” the name leaves his mouth an airy whisper. Jason doesn’t look at him. Places one foot over the ledge, hand holding the crowbar  relaxed at his knee as he looks over the building. He lets out a small snicker. And, Bruce’s heart races in his chest.

 

“You really _showed_ them who's boss, _didn’t you, Bruce?”_ Jason says with slight admiration in his tone that makes Bruce feel even worse for his actions. Guilt was a slow killer for him and it seemed the child wanted to tear it all out of him. “Not holding back as much anymore. _I see._ Almost like I did,” He turns towards Bruce, tapping the crowbar against the ledge. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard for Bruce. Jason gives a small jerky shrug. “Close enough, anyway. We both know, _I would have gone farther._ Made them take months to wake up,” a terse pause. “ _If they ever would._ I may have never killed, but I wanted to. _Just like you do._ But, you always stopped me,” He moves away from the ledge turning his full attention on the Bat. “Why’d you _stop_ me, Bruce?” He asks and the tone is accusatory. Sharp and biting. Meant to rend his mind apart.

 

 _“I wanted to protect you.”_ He almost states that he wanted to protect Jason from himself. From the darkness that was always waiting underneath the surface. But, even the words now are like he’s swallowing cyanide. A cruel reminder that he failed in that goal in more ways than one. A laugh leaves the child that does not sound like Jason’s, but the one he’s heard for weeks now instead.

 

“Well, you did a real _bang-up job_ there!” He exclaims more cheerful than he should have sounded for that type of statement. “How can you _claim_ to have wanted to _protect_ me when you _casted_ me in the _role_ that needed to be _replaced_ after Dick left? Does it really seem like a bright _idea_ to let a child _fight_ hardened criminals?” The crowbar is lifted to point at Bruce. “Isn’t that just a little _crazy_ sounding, Bruce?” Another guffaw escapes from Jason. His voice more distorted. As if it wasn’t real to begin with.

 

Despite, the accusation Bruce knew that wasn’t the reason he took Jason in, in the first place. He never intended to have another Robin after Dick. It more of just sorta happened that way when Jason figured out who he was during that first month. All he wanted was to help the child on a better path. To not become a criminal. Jason already had enough guts to steal the tires from the Batmobile, there was just no way of knowing the lengths he could have gone if he became a criminal. It didn’t make the guilt leave him. Or, the regrets of letting Jason become the second Robin in the first place. But, Bruce couldn’t change the past, no matter how much he might want to. He takes a small step forward and that's when the child’s body jerks unnaturally at Bruce’s sudden movement. Seeming unable to appear normal at all anymore. That catches Bruce’s intrigue immediately. He already knew something wasn’t right, but now he wasn’t so sure if it’s just his mental state to blame this time around. Jason seems to read this and keeps talking for more of a distraction from Bruce’s observations than anything else.

 

“Wanna _know_ something?” He doesn’t wait for Bruce to respond. “That night you didn’t _save_ me,” Bruce’s heart aches at the reminder which Jason’s grin widens at the noticeable wince the other makes. “I nearly beat a man to _death_ with this crowbar here,” he rests it against his shoulder then, but Bruce is more focused on Jason’s eyes. Yellow starts to form around the blue; making both almost match in color. “The _ONLY_ reason I didn’t was because I wanted to make you proud. Should have known better, that it was an impossibility.” A heartbeat passes. A growled out. _“No,”_ He states angrily now. Regardless, Bruce feels it’s more feigned than genuine. “You should have been trying to make me proud instead. That’s how things between us should have gone. It wasn’t me that _brought_ me into your _games_. It was you. Which means you should have made it more _enjoyable_ to play! _But, now, oh yes, now you can,”_ the eyes were completely yellow now. Gleaming with sadistic mirth.

 

 _“You. Are. Not. Jason.”_ Bruce finally speaks up. Done with the charade of who this stranger was. And, he had a strong feeling that this wasn’t a stranger at all. That he was almost positive who was playing this trick on him even if he didn’t have the proof. Other than those eyes. He once thought he’d seen eyes change into that shade once before. In a cemetery.

 

A chuckle and when Bruce blinks Jason is standing right in front of him. Barely enough space separating them. Crowbar aimed for a strike that he won’t have enough time to dodge. “True, I’m not the kiddo, in a _manner of speaking_. But,” A pause and his smile grows, and Bruce can see needle like teeth in his mouth. Inhuman in every way possible. “In a way. I’m all that _remains_ of your little birdy,” a cold laugh penetrates the air. Hiding a darker meaning behind the sound. His yellow gaze is sharp as he finally exclaims with all the happiness of a psychopath. _“Let’s play together from now on, Batsss.”_ And, the blow that hits his chest is like taking a hit from Killer Croc, but worst. Stronger than what a normal human can do and Bruce is knocked off the ledge. Falling down towards the ground below as yellow glowing eyes watch his decent with excitement.

 

_A promise of more nights like this to follow._

 

_Whether Bruce likes it or not._

 

_The Joker didn’t care as long as he had his fun._

 

\- - -

 

Two months have passed since Jason’s murder. The crime that had lowered in that event now was at an all time high. Making, Bruce feel like he just came out of the frying pan and into the fire. Dealing, with Jason’s murderer was one thing, not that he saw the clown since the incident on the roof, if that was him, though he didn’t doubt it anymore. Now, a gang war had broken out in the streets of Gotham that was taking all his attention away from what he needed to do. Leaving, Bruce even more exhausted each night and properly paranoid of when the clown would resurface again. His taunting promise playing on repeat in his mind. Making a promise of his own that next time he would be prepared, no matter what tricks the clown might try.

 

Batman watches James Gordon pace around in front of the Bat-symbol. Smoking his third cigarette since Gotham’s protector arrived. Stress  radiating off of him palpable.

 

“It’s nights like these that I want to retire,” Jim says and Bruce could understand the sentiment.

 

“It wouldn’t be the _same_ without you.” Bruce replies and receives a not rude scoff at the statement.

 

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem,” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Not like the boys in blue down there would even notice my absence,” he sounds bitter and Bruce can tell there is more that he’s not saying. He doesn’t want to question him out right as their partnership was on shaky ground lately due to Bruce’s more violent streak these days.

 

“I doubt that.” He replies instead.

 

“Haven’t been paying that much attention then.” Jim fires back. Harshly with misplaced anger.

 

“Not all of them are corrupt,” Bruce starts to say only to be cut off this time around.

 

“That’s not what I’m saying. _Not this time_ ,” Jim’s tone is way to uneasy for Bruce. And, he can’t hold back his questions any longer.

 

“What’s _happening_ , Jim?” It’s the right question to ask. And, the stricken look he receives makes Bruce wonder for a fraction of a second if he should retire himself. Not that he ever could see that day actually happening. He’d probably meet his end as Batman one night and it’s a simple fact of life that’s he’s accepted fully.

 

“I don’t know how to explain it, Batman,” he lights up his fourth cigarette trying to take a moment to gain the words he needs. Shoulders sagging in an unspoken defeat that he must have felt for a while now and Bruce is left disappointed in himself for not seeing the signs earlier. Jim is getting closer to his breaking point. Another sentiment the Bat feels, even if he won’t admit it. “Everyone I work with seems to be _forgetting_ things, _except for me_. Cases, things of that nature.”

 

 _“Forgetting?”_ He asks bewildered by the choice of word. A shiver running down his spine.

 

“Yes, at first, I just thought they were just getting distracted by finally having the time to tackle past cases that have been sitting in storage for months now,” He shoots the Bat vigilante a knowing look that Bruce ignores. “Though, that doesn’t make much sense these days. Crime is at a record high now. And, that’s saying something for Gotham.”

 

That was still an understatement and one Bruce has been made painfully aware of. It wasn’t just the gang war raging on in the streets, but every crime seemed to have upped the ante. Rapes, murders, theft, and even missing people had skyrocketed after that night the Bat-family took down Penguin. Like a violent plague has taken a grasp of Gotham and wouldn’t let go. Spewing poison into people’s veins; making them more prone to violence. Bruce didn’t know then how right that thought actually was. He couldn’t have known at this time that he lived in essence of a playground for a malicious ageless force. That said force who had all intentions of making Batman his playmate.

 

“Yet, none of them have _bat-an-eye_ to any of it,” a beat. “Sorry for the unintended pun,” it’s a poor attempt at a joke to try and clear the darkening mood that doesn’t work in the slightest, so Gordon just continues his explanation. ”Every single time I bring up any of the ever growing cases, none remember ever hearing about them at all even if they were told during briefing. It’s like they just can’t be _bothered_ to care. All of them seem different. _Worse. Uninterested._ For crying out loud. Even the murder of Bruce Wayne’s ward doesn’t pipe their interest. It’s always been _bad i_ n the GCPD, _but never this bad.”_ Gordon finishes, stomping out his smoke that he finished quickly during his rant. Reaching to pull out another one only to stop himself and letting out a sigh.

 

For Bruce the information he received doesn’t sit well for him, because in a way it’s hits way too close to home with what he has been experiencing with Alfred lately. The older man had just out of the blue started to forget about Jason Todd almost entirely. Even though Jason’s room hasn’t been altered since his death, Alfred still goes in there to clean, yet is oblivious to who owned the room in the first place. It was a concern that was gripping Bruce, Dick and Barbara with dread that the older man’s age was finally catching up with him in the worst possible way. Yet, even a doctor's visit proved nothing was medically wrong. A mystery that kept Bruce from sleeping even more than the ever present growing crime sprees did. Almost, keeping Batman from going out at night entirely, however Alfred wouldn’t allow that. Not in regards to himself. Denying that anything was a problem. But, something was wrong. And, that was more obvious now than ever by what Gordon has informed him. People were forgetting important information. Becoming placid to the city’s expanding cruelty around them. The question that was plaguing his every thought was, why this was happening and who was responsible.

 

The Image of the Joker flashed through his mind.

 

“Jim, I need to ask you something,” he speaks up suddenly. Startling the older of the two.

 

“Yeah?” Jim sounds as uneasy as Bruce felt.

 

“In those cases have there been any mentions of a _clown_ being spotted?” Bruce asks. Hoping he was on the right track and the look he receives doesn’t fully bode well for him.

 

“A clown? Not that I’m aware, but I haven’t looked at everything as of yet,” a pause, followed by a groan. “Don’t tell me we have another _costumed freak_ on our hands.” Bruce has to ignore that jibe at his expense.

 

 _“Look into it for me, will you?”_ Is what he responds. Needing to know if his suspicions are correct. He’s not sure what he’ll do if they are, but he’ll handle it when the time comes. Everything in his mind screamed at him that the Joker was behind everything. How that was possible didn’t logically make much sense, but the connections seemed to indicate that it was. Bruce wasn’t going to start doubting himself. Not after what he’s experienced the past two months. All he knew was that he was determined to put a stop to all the madness embracing his city in a suffocating abyss. The Joker wouldn’t win if he had a say in the matter and Bruce was positive that he did.

 

“Sure thing.” Jim agrees. Deciding he’ll actually need that other cigarette he looks down to pull out his pack. Only to not be surprised that the Dark Knight is gone when he looks up again. _“Every single time.”_ He mutters to himself. Lighting the smoke and inhaling the unhealthy substance into his lungs.

 

Jim stays there. Resting his back against the Bat-Symbol, that he personally got put up himself. Contemplating on the nature that Gotham City had. It wasn’t like any previous city that he’s lived in before. As a police officer before coming to Gotham he never would have thought that he’d have to deal with the things he does now. As commissioner in this city’s police force, that changed that outlook. Everything changed in what seemed like a blink of an eye. Costumed vigilantes that he has formed a somewhat rocky friendship with and costumed villains that threatened the lives he swore to protect almost nightly. Gotham was an oddity alright and part of him wishes he never moved here. Yet, at the same time he wouldn’t have it any other way. He flicks his smoke to the ground. Shakes his head to clear his mind and is ready to tackle the task Batman has asked of him. However, when he turns to shut off the Bat-Signal he nearly jumps out of skin by what wasn’t there before. And, knew that wasn’t there the whole time he was up on the roof.

 

For painted on the Bat-Signal in green spray paint is a smiley face. Mocking the beacon of hope that light was supposed to bring to all the innocents in Gotham City. The part that scares him is he can’t even fathom who could have done it. How someone must have been up there with him and the Bat and neither man noticed a single thing. That couldn’t be. The impossibility crippling his mind.

 

_Gordon is reminded of how Batman asked about a clown and could only wonder now if something else was going on in this city that he couldn’t ever possibly grasp in understanding._

 

_He’s also not sure if he ever wants to._

 

_He flips the light off, no longer able to look at it._

 

_Gordon leaves the roof and the last bit of hope that light once brought to him along with it._


End file.
